


Stolen

by getoffmyhead



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Developing Relationship, Hooking up, M/M, Penguins' Captain Geno, Ref Sid, Referee AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:13:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29902296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/getoffmyhead/pseuds/getoffmyhead
Summary: Geno forced his eyes away. "You not worried about this? Come for dinner with player, if people find out?""Nope. Might be an oversight because it's never come up, but I checked. Nothing in the rulebook says a ref can't date a player.""Date?" Geno said, too surprised to stop the exclamation from escaping. Were they on a date? He knew it felt a little warm between them, definitely more than strangers settling a debt, but were they really putting the big D word on it?
Relationships: Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin
Comments: 18
Kudos: 170





	Stolen

Geno felt the goal as soon as the puck dropped. He watched it tumble from the referee's fingers in slow motion, perfectly positioned to sweep it back to the Penguins' defense. Without waiting to hear the clap of the puck connecting with Marino's stick, Geno moved. Kuznetsov tried to shadow him, but the play was inevitable. The puck was already in the net. It just didn't know it yet.

Everything played out exactly how Geno predicted. Marino hooked the puck across the ice to Tanger, who set up the play at the blue line. Tanger waited for a beat while Geno fought his way down to the corner of the net, then rocketed a pass to Sheary on the boards. Geno shouldered against Orlov's shoving, trying in vain to move Geno out of the crease. Orlov lost the battle and his edge at the same time and went down just as Geno got his stick in place. He felt the puck cleanly hit his tape and deflect in.

Brief elation became immediate confusion when Geno heard Holtby shouting, "No! No goal! It was after the whistle!"

Whistle? Geno never heard a whistle. He whipped around to find the referee responsible for calling the goal and—oh great, it was the cute one. He was so new Geno didn't know his name, and he definitely hadn't refereed any Penguins games before. Geno would have remembered that face.

"Sorry, bud," the cute ref said with a shrug. "He's right. I called the trip before—"

"Trip! What trip?" Geno cried.

"Pittsburgh. Number 71," the ref said with a hint of a smile like he thought it was funny.

"You fucking serious? This guy—" Geno gestured at Orlov, who was by the net dusting snow off his breezers. "He can't skate, and you call _me_? He fall down, not trip!"

"Ice is slippery, I know," the ref said as he tried to herd Geno toward the box. "Come on, there's Gatorade in the sin bin. A two-minute hydration break will do you some good."

Geno seethed at both the patronizing tone and the stolen goal, but there was no point arguing further. He might only incur a more significant penalty if he kept it up. Geno grumbled under his breath about rookie referees hired solely for their good looks. Still, he made begrudging progress toward the penalty box. He would have made it all the way there, too, except—well, Kuznetzov laughed.

"Maybe if he learned to score without chopping legs, his team would make the playoffs," Kuznetzov said, ostensibly to Orlov, but he practically shouted it. "No matter. They can lose without him. It's what they're good at."

Already keyed up, Geno let Kuznetzov get right under his skin. He whipped around to tear the smirk off Kuznetzov's face and found the cute ref instead, knowingly in Geno's way.

"Easy there," the ref soothed. "Let's not add a misconduct, okay?"

"If you weren't so eager to blow your first whistle, none of this would be happening!" Geno snapped in Russian.

"Uh oh," the ref said with humor coloring his tone and brightening his eyes. "Is that how I know it's bad? When you stop speaking English?"

God, he just didn’t take _anything_ seriously. "You're bad," Geno snapped in English and tore away from the ref to stomp into the box. "You should review. Watch tape. You see how you fuck this call."

The ref paused with the door mostly closed, a contemplative look on his face. For a second, Geno thought he might have earned that game misconduct for the backtalk. Instead, the ref finished closing the door without another word. Then he skated across the ice and—shockingly—directly to video review.

Geno watched the ref gesture for a headset and lean into the door to watch the little screen inside. He stayed perfectly still for a few seconds before he visibly jerked. The way the ref turned to look back at the penalty box, Geno knew he had seen Orlov fall without interference. Geno got a center ice seat to watch him realize he had screwed up without a way to fix it. He couldn't reverse the call based on video replay. At least he had the decency to offer an apologetic grimace—a small comfort.

To make matters worse, the Capitals scored on the power play. Geno exited the box burning hotter than when he had entered it.

"I'm sorry," the cute ref said as he escorted Geno across the ice to the Penguins' bench. The stupid Caps were still celebrating their dumb goal. Geno clenched his jaw around all the mean things he wanted to say. "You were right. I blew the call. He just fell."

"No shit," Geno muttered, but he slowed his skates short of the bench and faced the ref curiously. In fifteen years of professional hockey—plus however many youth games before that—he'd never been apologized to for a missed call. He didn't know how this would go.

"Can't do much about it now," the ref said with a sheepish shrug. "I guess I owe you a beer?"

It was a peace offering, but Geno still felt mulish and upset. He dismissed the offer with a flat, "No."

Guilt doused the flames of Geno's anger, watching the ref's upsettingly handsome face cloud with misery. Geno looked up at Sully, who gave him an impatient gesture— _are you coming?_

Geno set his eyes back on the unbearable remorse chiseled into the ref's features. No one that good looking should have such compelling puppy dog eyes. It was a recipe for the ref getting his way all the time.

Which Geno intended to perpetuate. He sighed. "Sushi."

"What?"

"I don't like beer. You owe me sushi." Geno said it low and skated off, but not before he saw the ref revived from his pathetic state, a smile again threatening to dominate his face.

*****

They managed to get through the rest of the game without significant incident—though Geno felt pretty sure the ref called a questionable penalty on the Capitals to make up for his prior indiscretion. Ultimately, the Penguins won, so the ref's mistake could be forgiven. Geno was on the bench when the horn sounded at the end of the third, and he blew out a relieved sigh. He remembered to turn a smirk on Kuznetzov when he came off the ice and reveled in his glowered response.

Geno slogged his way through press. He always had to face the cameras after Capitals games. They asked him about Ovi, of course, who Geno barely saw on the ice. Because of their positions, their styles of play, he and Ovi seldom crossed paths. The big bird stayed on his perch at the top of the circle while Geno did the dirty work behind the goal and on the boards.

Geno fantasized for a second about speaking his thoughts aloud before he got to imaginary-Jen's betrayed expression. She would clean up his snippy comments for weeks if he did something careless. So he said the same old things he always did.

"We need to be team. Need work hard together. Capitals is good team, but Penguins have to be better. And we win, so—" Geno shrugged with an intentionally cheeky grin, and they ate it up. He saw Jen smile across the room—approval. Those brownie points would come in handy someday.

The shower felt _so_ good after that, and not only because he had it mostly to himself after staying late for press and then undressing slowly. The hot water carried away sweat and frustration, so it all swirled down the drain and left Geno free. The game was officially over—melted away and running off his skin.

Geno felt new after the shower—energized. He dressed with the remaining stragglers in the locker room, clowning around, then pulled a hat over his messy hair and strode out with a spring in his step. Maybe he wouldn't go home yet. Instead, he might go to a bar or a club, do something his twenty-year-old self would.

"Hey."

Geno jumped a mile when the unexpected voice in the hall outside the locker room yanked him out of his musings.

"Sorry," the voice said, and Geno recognized it—in both tone and word—before he spun around and found the ref approaching. "Didn't mean to scare you, there."

"Fucking kill me," Geno said, rubbing his chest like he felt a heart attack coming.

"Yeah, I'm not doing great, am I?"

"What you doing here?"

"I, uh. I thought—I guess it's a little late, but I haven't eaten. If you wanted to go get sushi."

The washed-away parts of the game—the apology, the demand—flooded back into Geno's mind. He gaped at the ref and watched him grow visibly sheepish.

"Or, if you want. We could exchange numbers. I'll be back, you know. Maybe for an earlier game—"

"No," Geno interrupted. After all, he had been considering staying out. Dinner with the ref might not be the wildest time, but it could be amusing. "You make bad call today. You buy dinner _today_."

The ref smiled eyes-first, looking delighted. "You sure there's a sushi place open around here?"

Geno snorted. The restaurants he frequented would stay open for him long after hours. "Yes, I know."

"What's it called? I'll get an Uber."

"No, I drive. Come."

It didn't occur to Geno until he was behind the wheel with the cute ref playing with his radio to ask, "What's your name?"

The ref grinned at him. "Really? You let a perfect stranger into your car without learning his name?"

"Okay, I call you Ref if you want."

The smile widened and softened into something very fond. "It's Sid."

"No, too late. You Ref now. Pick some music, Ref."

The smile's final evolution was an unguarded laugh, crinkly-eyed and genuine, with Sid's head thrown back against the seat. "Two can play that game, Seventy-One."

Geno helplessly reciprocated with his own smile while Sid flipped stations and settled on something inoffensive—some top 40 station.

Geno considered taking Sid somewhere in a referee's salary range, but only briefly. He liked his place better, and besides, missed calls should hurt. He beelined for his favorite restaurant in the city, where the hostess greeted him by name and set them up at a private table at the back.

"Well, you don't like beer," Sid mused, looking over the drinks menu once they settled in. "What about wine?"

Geno shrugged noncommittally. Truthfully, he didn’t _like_ any alcohol. He drank whatever got him there when the moment called, but he preferred something that didn't burn his throat.

Sid grinned over the table like he had Geno all figured out. When the waiter arrived, instead of ordering wine, Sid got a pot of tea—the kind Geno would have gotten for himself.

"Try to impress me?" Geno asked.

"Is it working?"

Geno felt his face heat up at Sid's playful tone, the coy glint in his eyes, and had to force himself to respond, "No, it's just tea."

Sid clearly wasn't fooled by the dismissal, the way his smile stayed put. "Guess I'll have to try harder, eh?"

Impressing Geno wasn't part of the deal to make up for the bad call, a fact Geno very nearly pointed out before he caught himself. If he said it, the glint in Sid's eyes might go away, the tightness in his cheeks threatening to bring back his smile at any prompting. Geno couldn't bring himself to risk it.

Sid quizzed Geno on his favorite sushi until the waiter returned and ordered based on Geno's recommendations. That didn't stop him from taking one bite and pushing the plate toward Geno. "You have to try this."

The logical response—"I have obviously tried it. I recommended it."—didn't stand a chance in the face of Sid's enthusiasm. Geno snagged a sweet and spicy crab off Sid's plate and gestured for Sid to do the same with his salmon roll. After that, they were basically just sharing everything.

"So, why you want to be ref?" Geno asked—the question that had been nagging at him. Sid didn't seem like the referee type. He seemed like he would be more at home in a locker room. "You don't play hockey?

Sid took a pensive sip of tea before he shrugged—apparently the end of a short, internal debate about what to say. "Sure, I played. I still play beer league. Most of us do, you know. We even get together for a scrimmage, all the refs and linesmen, before the season."

"But I mean, like, for real," Geno said, then flinched at his callous-sounding words. "No, I mean, professional. College."

Sid's eyes sparkled, watching Geno flounder before he showed some mercy. "Yeah, I was in the Q as a kid. I actually would have been in the draft the year after you."

"Draft? NHL?"

"Yeah. I busted my knee before the combine, and it never really came back the same after surgery. Damn thing still hurts when it rains." Sid said it with a bright-eyed chuckle, but Geno could scarcely imagine how it would feel to miss the draft over an injury. Then to never come back to a professional level of hockey must have been a terrible blow. Geno put his chopsticks down in silent commiseration.

"Sid, I'm sorry. That must be terrible."

"I mean, it was fourteen years ago. I'm over it."

Geno didn't think that could be entirely true. He tried to envision his life without hockey—if he hadn't been drafted, his future ripped out from under him. He would never have gotten over it, and the way Sid suddenly refused to meet his gaze, he didn't think Sid had, either.

"So, uh. Yeah," Sid continued after clearing his throat. "I figured I had to do _something_ to pay the bills. I could still skate well enough without anybody checking me into the boards, so—reffing seemed like a good option. Started out doing college games, then minors. Took a while to work up to the NHL."

"Tonight is first game?"

"Just the first in Pittsburgh. I've been on the circuit all season. It _was_ my first really bad call, though. Sorry. Again."

"It's okay. We still win. You bring me sushi. I forgive."

Sid had a really great smile. Geno could easily get addicted to it.

Geno forced his eyes away. "You not worried about this? Come for dinner with player, if people find out?"

"Nope. Might be an oversight because it's never come up, but I checked. Nothing in the rulebook says a ref can't date a player."

"Date?" Geno said, too surprised to stop the exclamation from escaping. Were they on a date? He knew it felt a little warm between them, definitely more than strangers settling a debt, but were they really putting the big D word on it?

While Geno internally debated the definition of a date, Sid froze into a panicked ice sculpture. It had evidently not occurred to him that Geno's demand for sushi to pay for his mistake might be anything but a pretense, allowing them to go out romantically. It was only just hitting Sid that their on-ice exchange might have been straightforward, lacking the subtext he had read into it. One look across the table at Sid's horrified realization convinced Geno to forego his hang-ups.

"No. _This_ not date," Geno said with a dismissive gesture that made Sid's eyes get even wider. "This, you fuck up call. Buy me dinner. Next time, we go to movie. _That_ is date.”

Sid thawed out smile-first and sat back, clearly relieved. "A movie, eh?"

"Sure, I like it. It's good date."

"I mean, depending on the movie. Nobody wants to hold hands during Godzilla."

Geno snorted. "You think I will hold hands, first date?"

"Not that kind of guy?" Sid teased, returning to his sushi.

Truthfully, Geno would absolutely hold hands on a first date. He would go a lot further than that, too, but he liked this game with Sid, playing hard to get. So he let Sid keep the idea that Geno would play coy about touching during their hypothetical movie date and reached for his tea without comment.

With the air cleared, the remainder of dinner felt far more intimate. Sid pried into every part of Geno's life—his family, how he liked living in Pittsburgh, where he spent his offseason. Sid seemed supremely interested in even the mundane details, bright-eyed across the table while he listened.

It was after midnight when they reluctantly abandoned the cozy setting. Geno could easily have stayed longer, talked more and enjoyed the company, but he could see Sid's guilt mounting every minute they stayed past closing time.

Outside, Geno shivered at a chilly wind. November was just starting to take hold, winter whispering its oncoming arrival. They hurried to the car to outrun the cold.

"Where to?" Geno asked when he got the car turned on, the heater warming up.

"I guess my hotel. Unless you know any late-night movie theaters around here?" Sid said, side-eyeing Geno for a reaction like he was only half-joking.

"No, sorry," Geno said with a regretful shrug. The sushi place might know him well enough to stay open, but he couldn't say the same for the local theaters. He tried to think of the last time he went to a movie—probably the last time he went on a date, which was long enough ago he no longer remembered the guy's name. "Only late-night theater is my house."

Geno didn't intend it as an offer. He only meant to say he really only watched movies at home, with theaters being a special treat. Only after Sid's eyebrows jerked up did he realize how it could be taken—an invitation.

Sid cleared his throat like he was buying for time, maybe waiting for Geno to take it back, before he cautiously said, "I'm pretty sure I saw a Red Box on the way. We could swing by the store, get some popcorn."

"I have machine, make popcorn," Geno said, continuing to dig in instead of rescinding the mistaken offer. He should be backing off, telling Sid they could go to a real theater next time, but—his heart was beating fast like he was on the ice during an important game. Maybe, subconsciously, he had meant it as an offer after all.

Sid blew out a breath, for the first time seeming to be totally off balance. "Okay. Cool. I mean, if you're okay with that—"

"I say already," Geno said, feigning impatience. "Only theater."

Sid's face worked back into a disbelieving but eager grin. "Yeah, okay. Let's do it."

*****

The movie was terrible, but it would have made no difference if Geno had picked an Oscar winner. The way Sid chose the middle of the couch instead of the opposite end from Geno and spread his legs until their thighs touched, Geno didn't think Sid's objective for the night was watching the movie.

Which—Geno couldn't precisely claim his own intentions were innocent. After all, he had picked the movie with the cheesiest cover art, hoping it would be schlock. So, when Sid's leg brushed his for easily the dozenth time, Geno hooked his hand over the swell of Sid's thigh and left it there. He felt the lack of movement while Sid adjusted to the new development and formulated a response. Sid's hand touched his lightly at first, a question or an offer. When Geno didn't move away, Sid finished laying his hand over Geno's.

From that point, it was only a matter of time. The movie grew worse, and their interest in it waned, focused instead on each other. Sid shifted closer and nudged Geno's hand up his thigh. When Geno grinned over at him in response, Sid gave a little shrug—a gesture sheepish enough to show that he realized he was maybe being pushy. But Sid also looked pretty shameless about it. He knew what he wanted, and it wasn't to watch a bad action movie.

Geno didn't look away. As he started to move closer, angling to slot their mouths together, he saw the dawn of realization on Sid's face—the widening of his eyes, the flash of a pink tongue when Sid licked his lower lip reflexively. All of it seemed encouraging, inviting Geno to kiss him. Geno felt relief when their lips touched, as though they had broken the seal on their affection and opened up a wealth of possibilities. The movie became nothing more than a jarring soundtrack to their kissing and touching, but Geno didn't want to break away even for a moment to turn it down.

Bold as he had been all night, Sid drew away and slid to the floor. His intentions were unmistakable when he knelt between Geno's thighs and began working at his trousers to get them open.

Without Sid's kisses to distract him, Geno's eyes were drawn to the perpetual movement of the television screen. He fumbled toward the side table for the remote with one hand as he helped Sid get his trousers down with the other. He touched the remote just in time and hit the power button, plunging them into silence as Sid got a hand on his cock.

"You didn't want to watch?" Sid asked, grinning up at him like the devil. His lips looked full and pink like he'd been sucking dick already.

"I watch," Geno assured him. He cupped a hand around Sid's jawline and touched his thumb to Sid's lower lip. When he pressed downward, Sid angled his head to suck the tip of Geno's thumb. Sid looked gleeful about the punched exhale Geno couldn't help in response.

Sid took his time working his mouth on Geno's cock. He acted like he enjoyed it, rubbing the wet surface of his tongue against the head like a big lollipop. He even moaned a couple of times, as though sucking Geno's dick gave him pleasure as well. Despite his promise, Geno had to look away for a while to keep from blowing his load right away. The slick sounds of Sid's mouth on him in the silent room made for more than enough stimulation without the addition of watching those plump lips around his shaft.

"What do you like?" Sid pulled up to ask, as though Geno weren't clenching his fists against the sides of his thighs and staring at the ceiling to keep from going off. Before Geno could herd together enough brain cells to answer, Sid dipped low, manhandled his dick out of the way, and got his mouth on Geno's sack. Geno arched his back off the couch, gasping with the motion of Sid's tongue on his balls.

"This. This is good," Geno said with all the voice he could muster—barely more than a breathy whisper. He thought Sid might make fun of him for it, which would benefit him a little because it might bring his arousal down a notch. Instead, Sid only huffed a sound of satisfaction Geno could feel obscenely against his nuts.

"You can come in my mouth," Sid said, free to speak while he journeyed from Geno's balls back to his dick. Geno jerked his head down in time to catch the last of Sid's knowing smirk before his lips parted to take Geno in again. He knew Geno was close. Judging by the sudden urgency of his mouth, contrasting the unhurried pace from before, he wanted to make it happen.

This time, Geno kept his eyes on Sid's face instead of looking away to preserve his dignity. If Sid wanted him to come, the sight of his wet mouth working Geno's dick like it was a job would do the trick in no time. He lightly ran his fingers into Sid's hair. When Sid groaned approval, he tightened his grip and flexed his hips up into Sid's mouth. A few rounds of that, and he was gone, long past the point of no return.

Sid swallowed around the head of Geno's dick while he spent. Only after did Geno realize his hand had remained clenched in Sid's hair. He released it with a quick apology, but Sid was grinning when he lifted up.

"You mind?" Sid asked. He didn't wait for Geno to figure out what he might be asking for before clambering onto his lap to straddle his thighs. He had his dick hanging out, hard and flushed. "This shirt dry clean only?"

"What?" Geno asked. He didn't want to talk about laundry. He wanted to cover Sid's hand with his own and assist him with jerking off.

Sid didn't make any effort to clarify. He really must have gotten worked up sucking Geno's dick because his breath grew ragged pretty fast. Only when he locked up with a high sound and shot across the fabric of Geno's button-down did Geno understand Sid's question. He also didn't care. It was a shirt. If he couldn't clean it, he would replace it.

Sid sagged down on Geno's lap and became a sack of dead weight. He dragged his mouth across Geno's in the laziest kiss and then pressed his face into the crook of Geno's neck.

"Well," Sid said, lips brushing Geno's skin when he spoke. "We even now?"

Geno jerked at the reminder—the game, the whistle, the stolen goal. The start of their date. He knew better than to think Sid sucked his dick to make up for his on-ice infraction, but he couldn't let the implication slide. He sagged back against the couch with a faux-beleaguered sigh. "I think you want fuck me because I'm famous. You do only because bad call?"

"Maybe a little bit of both," Sid said. His grin was in his voice, so Geno didn't have to try to read him. "Want to finish the movie?"

"No," Geno said. Sleep was starting to reach for him. He wouldn't make it through the movie if he tried.

"Yeah, it was pretty bad," Sid agreed. "Next time, you should let me pick."

Geno felt relief at the talk of next time. Sid didn't strike him as a one-time-hook-up kind of guy, but he appreciated the reassurance. "Okay, you pick," he agreed. The last part of his words stretched into a yawn.

"It's late," Sid said with a mournful quality to his voice. Geno thought he would offer to get an Uber, which would be a feat this time of night. Geno should really take him back to the hotel himself, be a gentleman. Except, Sid provided a third option—by far the best of them. "Mind if I crash on the couch?"

"Couch? No, I don't think."

Sid pulled back with a hesitant look like he worried he had stepped out of bounds.

“I have _bed_ , Sid. Don’t sleep on couch.”

“ _Your_ bed?”

Geno had guest bedrooms, too, but he didn't think Sid was asking for one. He feigned indignance to answer, "I think you can suck my dick, you can sleep in bed. It's okay."

A grin cracked through Sid's unreadable expression, and Geno knew the hesitation was over.

Geno led the way to the bedroom and stripped out of his clothes in the en suite. Sid grinned knowingly at him from the doorway when he thought for a second and tossed the shirt in the trash.

"It's old shirt," Geno said, shrugging. They both knew he just didn't want to look the launderette employees in the eyes if he sent it to them. He changed the subject quickly and found Sid a toothbrush.

They retired to bed just in time. Geno had started to feel as though he might drift off on his feet. Still, the strangeness of having a bedpartner after many years alone kept him from totally falling asleep. He drifted in half slumber until Sid moved. He scooted across the distance between them until Geno could feel the heat from his body without contact. Then Sid laid a careful hand on Geno's hip. The touch settled him, and he sank into slumber.

*****

In a perfect world, the morning would have begun slowly. Geno might have woken in Sid's arms and rolled to kiss him. They might even have had a chance to have sex again, moving lazily together in the dawn light.

The reality was sharper and meaner. Geno woke to a hand gently shaking his shoulder.

"Hey, I'm really sorry," Sid said when he saw Geno's eyes open. "But I have to check out of my hotel and catch a flight."

Sid was dressed in his clothes from the night before.

"I'm getting an Uber, but I wanted to say goodbye."

"Cancel Uber," Geno said, flinging the covers back. "I drive."

"Oh, no. You don't have to—"

"It's okay. I have practice."

Sid looked relieved that he wouldn't be totally inconveniencing Geno. Thankfully, he didn't ask what time the Penguins practiced. He never needed to know Geno was leaving the house three hours early just for him.

Clearly a morning person, Sid carried the conversation on the way to the hotel. Geno was happy to listen to him, smiling and nodding along while concentrating on the road. He wished again that Sid could stay longer. It felt like they were just getting started, scratching the surface of subjects he wanted to know everything about.

Sid stopped talking when he saw the hotel looming. His silence seemed disappointed, which brought Geno some comfort—knowing that he wasn't the only one wishing for longer.

"Pull around back," Sid said, pointing toward the secondary lot behind the hotel.

Geno guided his car where Sid had directed and parked facing away from the building. There were no people in sight, which Sid confirmed by a careful glance around before leaning across the console. Against the rules or not, Geno supposed it wouldn't be ideal for the other refs to catch Sid making out with the Penguins' captain.

Sid's retreat from Geno's mouth looked remorseful. "I really have to go."

"Yes, I know."

"This was—" Sid cut himself off, grinning like he couldn't believe he had just spent the night with a player.

"Good," Geno said firmly.

"Yeah. Really good."

"When you ref Penguins again?"

"Probably not for a while," Sid said with his smile falling into a disappointed frown. "I'm in Florida next."

"Give phone." Geno held out his hand, and Sid dug his phone from his pocket to give it over. Geno entered his contact information and handed it back. "Don't scare me in hall next time. Text."

A resurgent grin dawned over Sid's face, crinkling up his eyes with joy. He typed something out on his phone and sent it. Geno's phone dinged. His car displayed the message—an eggplant emoji with a question mark. He snorted and dragged Sid across the console for a final kiss.

"Go away now," Geno said, and he hoped Sid understood. He needed to release Sid like a wild animal, watch him sprint away quickly, or Geno might try to keep him.

"I'll text you," Sid said as he opened the car door. "I'll have a better idea of my schedule next week."

"Good. We make plans for date."

Sid looked so pleased when he turned back. He seemed hopeful, excited for the future. "See you later," he said significantly before he shut the door and ended their conversation. Geno watched in the rearview mirror as Sid walked to the hotel, heart buoyant with residual optimism.

*****

Twelve days after parting in Pittsburgh, Geno saw Sid again in Nashville. He had expected it, been informed by excited texts that Sid would be there, but it was still a jolt to see him in person. Sid grinned when Geno slid to a stop beside him before the anthem. "Seventy-One."

"Ref," Geno greeted, no doubt poorly concealing his smile. "No bad call tonight, okay? Let me score."

Sid coughed to hide his laugh. A captain could talk to the referees without anybody raising an eyebrow, but if they looked too chummy, Nashville might throw a fit about favoritism. "I don't know. The last one didn't turn out too bad for me. Might make a habit of it."

Geno had to wipe his grin away with the back of his glove and actively mean mug his way across the ice to stand on the blue line to keep from giving himself away. He found that he was looking less forward to the game itself and more to the aftermath. His stomach fluttered in anticipation of Sid's text telling him where to meet—the dinner Sid had planned, the late-night movie theater Sid had scoped out. He glanced one last time over his shoulder and found Sid's eyes on him, clearly thinking about the same thing. Only three hours of hockey stood between them and their second date. Geno couldn't wait.


End file.
